


Vitam Post Mortem

by mcgarrygirl78



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily could get one step closer to healing…whatever the hell that was.  It was one more secret she didn’t have to live with anymore.  The problem was that everyone else did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vitam Post Mortem

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR UNKNOWN SUBJECT!!! I loved this episode and have wanted to write about it for some time. The words finally just started coming together. I haven’t written this pairing in a while, not because I don’t love them anymore but they just weren't speaking. Now they are. This is canon, my fanon, and everything in between all wrapped up in a warm loaf and meant to be enjoyed with a nice glass of wine…or something like that. The title translates to life after death in Latin. And my fight with translation engines and dictionaries continue.

The rain fell silent and steady as the plane landed and the doors opened onto the Quantico air strip. The BAU piled out and walked to SUVs waiting a few hundred feet away. Emily said nothing when Hotch held his umbrella over her head and took the go bag from her shoulders. He brought her tea just before the plane took off and watched her fake sleep the entire way from Texas. It was about a two and a half hour flight, most of which team members spent listening to music, sitting in silence, or doing paperwork. 

But Prentiss “slept”. He knew she had a bad day and he wanted to ask her about it but wasn’t entirely sure how. So he said OK and went about making her something to drink. He knew the tea couldn’t comfort her like human contact could. Hotch told her to come to him, talk, tell him. And then she had. 

He knew Emily well. He knew her tone when she didn’t want to talk about it and her tone when she did. It wasn’t hard for him to see why this case got to her. Victims were being re-victimized by a phantom they didn’t even know. He’d been there. 

First Foyet stabbed him nine times and then he turned on his family. Hotch would never forget what happened as long as he lived. Someone he loved died because of him. Haley died because he was just doing his job. Then Emily nearly died because she was doing hers. 

Everyday Hotch hoped that Ian Doyle was burning in hell. The gentleman terrorist rained down on the BAU but in the end he didn’t win. Emily survived. The wounds weren't going to go overnight…they might never disappear. 

There were still nights he woke in a cold sweat to the sound of gunshots. He couldn’t imagine how it was for Emily. There were so many times that he wanted to reach out but just didn’t. He would have to live with that as well. But surely it had nothing on what she was living with. 

He watched her overcompensate, day after day after day, trying to make it up to the team as if she’d done something wrong. Did they have the right to feel betrayed, upset, and angry…yes? Did they have the right to feel that way towards Emily? Absolutely not. But you couldn’t tell people how to feel.

He held open the passenger door of an SUV and Prentiss got in. Hotch was surprised no one climbed in his car. Rossi, Reid, Morgan, and JJ just got in the other car after they all said goodnight. Maybe they knew Prentiss wasn’t asleep too. Morgan had been standing beside Hotch watching through the glass when she interviewed Regina Lampert. And they’d all been watching over her throughout the case. 

They'd all been watching over her since her return to the BAU. Hotch threw the bags in the back, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the car. They were both startled when heavy metal came blaring out of the speakers on full blast. Emily screamed, covering her mouth a little too late. Hotch pushed the off button.

“What the hell?” he murmured.

“I'm sorry.” She said.

“Don’t apologize.” He looked at her. “No more apologies Emily; you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I'm apologizing for screaming in your ear.”

“It startled you.” Hotch said. “Your response was understandable.”

Emily nodded and said nothing more. He just headed off the airstrip and toward Washington, DC. On any given night the ride could take 20 to 50 minutes depending on traffic, construction, karma, and anything else God wanted to throw in the mix. Tonight it was rain. They might be on the road for a while. Emily turned the radio on again, fiddling with the stations until she found what she always described as cheesy love songs. Elton John sang _Sacrifice_.

“Do you remember the first Elton John song you ever heard?” Emily asked.

“I don’t think so. I remember the first time I heard _Honky Cat_. I can't be sure if that’s the first song I heard but I remember the rush of loving it.”

“For me it was _Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_. I remember sitting in the den, I was probably seven and we were in Bonn for the summer. It came on the radio and I had never heard that voice before. I wanted to hear it all the time. I needed to hear it. It was like the first time I heard _Close to You_. I think it’s been like that every time since the first time with Elton.”

Hotch nodded, though he didn’t quite get what she was saying. He loved music. He loved The Beatles, Smokey Robinson, The Doobie Brothers, and The Police. But with Emily it seemed as if music moved through her bloodstream. It was woven into the very fabric of her life and deeply influenced who she was and who she wanted to be. She varied from Morrissey to Jim Morrison to Journey to some one-hit wonder band who sang a song that could only be called a cheesy love song. She was the only woman, the only person, he knew that was both a fan of Marilyn Manson and Mary Chapin Carpenter.

“Do you mind if I ask you a strange question?” Emily asked.

“No.” Hotch replied, unsure but with no way out of it.

“Did you hear anything…after you were stabbed? I know you weren't dying, necessarily, but do you remember anything about being in that space.”

He was quiet for some time. Elton John changed over to Bad English and Hotch was still quiet. He took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as he lifted his foot off the gas. There was some kind of delay up ahead.

“I heard my mother’s voice.” He replied. “She kept saying, ‘Aaron, Aaron its time to come in’. I don’t even know what that means. I just kept hearing her voice in the darkness.”

“You saw the darkness too?”

“I don’t remember a lot. I just remember my mother’s voice and it was dark and I was trying to reach her. It wasn’t until I woke up in the hospital that I remembered what happened to me.”

“For me it was just cold and dark and weird but there was the faint sound of music in the background. I don't know,” Emily shook her head. “I guess Elton John just reminded me of it. I don’t remember what the music was; it was far away. But it was there. I'm sorry.”

“You're apologizing again.”

“I had a bad day, Hotch.”

“I know.” He nodded, glancing at her.

“I could never do what Regina Lampert did.” Emily spoke so quietly that she hardly heard it herself.

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I was in a room with Ian Doyle. I was alone with him and if I wanted to kill him I could have. No one was around; if I wanted to kill him Aaron I could’ve.”

“I know.” He nodded.

“I didn’t want to kill him.” Emily shook her head. “He could be a monster; I would never justify anything he did. He was also a father in mourning. Lauren Reynolds killed his child and he killed Lauren…that was the code he lived by. That was the code that he died by too.”

“I'm not going to shed any tears for him. I won't shed any for Hamilton Bartholomew either.”

“I've had hate in my heart.” She went on almost as if he hadn't spoken. “I think we all have because we’re just human beings. I've killed people in the course of my job. I've lost a little sleep at night about it. But I could never…”

“I killed George Foyet with my bare hands, Emily.” Hotch was pressing on the gas again. “I have to live with that for the rest of my life. He was a killer and he turned me into one.”

“I'm not going to shed any tears for George Foyet. I shed my tears for you and what you’ve been through.”

“How come you always focus on everyone else? I'm sorry, that was out of line.”

“Looks who’s apologizing now.”

They didn’t say anything after that. Hotch just drove and Emily looked out the rain soaked window as music played on the radio. She knew all the songs but she wasn’t in a singing mood. She actually just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. It was cathartic; she did it sometimes. 

The raw emotion was better out than in. Inside it was ripping her apart like a pair of velociraptor talons. With it out she could move on to the next hour, the next day. Emily could get one step closer to healing…whatever the hell that was. It was one more secret she didn’t have to live with anymore. The problem was that everyone else did.

She looked at Hotch, wondered what he was thinking. It seemed as if he was trying to do anything but think. He’d closed himself off so much since everything that happened with Foyet. Emily couldn’t exactly blame him for that but how did he think he could help her. Of course he was putting the advice—order—to talk to him out there as a Unit Chief, not a friend. 

Had she and Hotch ever been friends? After Haley walked out they’d been something. Fuck buddies, friends with benefits, two warm beds in a cold town. Whatever it was it went on for a while, in the dark, until an explosion nearly cost him his life. Then he pulled away. 

After she was attacked by Cyrus he tried to come back, tried to do whatever it is that he could do, but it never felt the same. It worked out a little better after Matthew died but that’s only because Emily wanted to fuck so she wouldn’t have to think. And when she got tired of doing that and she didn’t show up at his hotel room anymore or he didn’t have too much to drink (or act as if he did) it just ended. Then she walked into his condo and saw a puddle of blood. 

One of these days they would all catch a break. The monsters that haunted them were dead but they left much destruction in their wake. It had been just over two years for Hotch and barely a year for Emily. While what brought them to the places where they nearly lost their lives was similar, the aftermaths were quite different. 

Still, it was something else they shared. It might be easier if they could talk about it with each other. Or talk about something anyway. With these two, silence never quite proved to be golden. Not sure what else to do, Emily reached out. Her hand grazed his as it rested on the steering wheel.

“I'm going to be OK.” She said.

“You don’t have to go through what you're going through alone.”

“When I said that to you, you ignored me. And when I told you that about Jack I had it thrown back in my face as proof of overcompensating. That hurt me more than I can say. You know how much I care about him, Aaron. I care about you too.”

“I just don’t want you to believe that the way to fix yourself is to help everyone else.” he replied. “You give and give and give and then what's left?”

“I don't know.” Emily shrugged.

“Spencer told Morgan what you said to him on the plane home after Oklahoma. You told him that you mourned the loss of six friends.”

“I did.” She nodded.

“Can I still drive into the garage?” Hotch asked. They were finally in DC and not far from the Watergate.

Emily nodded. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She didn’t want Hotch to drive into the garage. This day just needed to be over. She needed a big glass of wine, a tub full of hot water, some candles, and the sound of Gabriel’s cello. 

Emily would probably see how long she could hold her breath underwater tonight. She’d do it more than once. Then she’d put on her favorite warm pajamas, cuddle with her cat, and sleep it off. There were a million things she wanted to say but couldn’t. 

Her thoughts were jumbled, incoherent. But there were things she needed to get off her chest. If only she could make everything make sense again. Before this all happened, even on a really bad day, something made sense. Now, even on supposedly good days it was tough to make that happen.

When Hotch turned into the underground garage, Celine Dion stopped singing. He found a space in guest parking and cut the ignition. Getting out of the car, Hotch grabbed her bag, and Emily got out too. She didn’t expect Hotch to walk her upstairs but what else would he be parking for. She hoped he didn’t want to have another awkward conversation. She didn’t have it in her. 

The elevator ride was slow and quiet. Then they walked down the hall and Emily unlocked the door of her condo. George rushed the door, which he didn’t normally do. When he saw Emily had a visitor he gave a loud meow. Hotch put her bag down by the closet door, crouching down to pet the Abyssinian.

“You want a cat…real cheap?” she asked.

“I'm sure the psychiatrist wouldn’t be happy that you gave your boyfriend away to a co-worker.”

“I bet she’d want to sit down and talk to you about it.” the thought made Emily smile at least. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, I’ll have one.”

Emily went to the fridge and grabbed a High Life for Hotch. Then she took a wineglass from the cabinet and filled it with Chateau Ste. Michelle Riesling. Her first sip was amazing. Then she drank down half of the glass trying to pretend he wasn’t staring at her. Emily refilled it.

“I'm not going to be good company tonight.” she said.

“That’s alright. I’d like to stay anyway.”

“Will you run my bath?” she asked in a cheeky tone.

“Yes.” Hotch nodded.

She didn’t expect to hear that so she just nodded as well. Then she walked through the living room and headed up the stairs. Hotch figured he better follow and he did. Not to be left behind, George followed them upstairs. By the time he got to the bedroom, Emily was already undressing. 

She was just wearing her slacks and a bra. Hotch hadn't seen her without clothes since Doyle attacked her. Surgery left its share of scars. He was happy the brand was gone. She told him that the skin grafts had been painful, torture. But it wasn’t nearly as much torture as looking at the thing had been. 

The pain faded eventually. Looking in the mirror was a little easier now. She looked through the CD collection on her shelf. Finding what she was looking for, Emily put it into the stereo and the music filled the room.

“I haven’t heard this in a long time.” 

“Do you know the name of this song?” Emily asked.

“No.” he shook his head.

“It’s called _The Lady of Moldavia_ …he wrote it for me.”

Hotch knew that she’d been in a relationship with the famous late cellist Gabriel Cohen while studying at Yale. She told him about it one night while they were listening to his music. He knew a lot about Emily Prentiss but he was sure there were a million more things he didn’t know. Hotch wouldn’t find them out tonight but that was alright. He wasn’t there to break her in half. He was there to try to put her back together again.

“I’ll run your bath…you try to relax.” He said.

She couldn’t believe he was really going to do that but she also wasn’t about to complain. A little pampering might be nice. This case had taken a lot out of her and the little that was left, Regina Lampert sucked away with her vengeance. They weren't alike; they just weren't. You didn’t hurt someone because they hurt you…two wrongs didn’t make a right. 

That wasn’t how you moved on and found peace. While Emily wasn’t entirely sure how you did that she knew it wasn’t by getting revenge. The nightmares would never end if she had done that. Taking off the rest of her clothes, Emily sat on the edge of the bed in an FBI tee shirt and her underwear. George came for his cuddle and she gave it to him. He wasn’t as demanding as usual after she’d been away; he just relaxed next to her and gave her comfort. 

Then the tears came. Emily didn’t need to curl up in a ball. She didn’t need to sob. She just listened to the music, listened to Hotch tinkering around in her bathroom, and she cried. It went on for a while but when it was over, Emily wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then Hotch was standing in her bedroom again.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I had a bad day.” She replied. 

“We’re going to make it better.”

He held out his hands and Emily took them. Leading her into the bathroom, she saw a bathtub full of water and lit candles all around it. Emily undressed completely and stepped into the warmth. She looked up at her Unit Chief.

“Are you going to join me?” she asked.

“I wasn’t sure if you…it’s alright if you want to be alone.”

“I don’t.” Emily shook her head. It was the truth. She didn’t want to talk but she didn’t want to be alone either.

Hotch undressed right there, which took a minute since he was in his full Hotch uniform. Then Emily moved up and he slipped into the tub behind her. Once he settled, she leaned back against him and exhaled. He wasn’t sure if it was OK to wrap his arms around her so Hotch began to gently massage her shoulders. Emily sighed, relaxing under his touch. 

He didn’t have the words…he rarely did. But Hotch could let her feel him and know he was there. While neither of them would admit to being unsure about tomorrow, they knew they had tonight. It was possible to make a bad day a little better if they just held on.

***


End file.
